


Cliffside Meetings

by CarbonFiberSparrow



Series: Reconfigure [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Family Shenanigans, Fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Recall, The Last Bastion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:19:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8275811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarbonFiberSparrow/pseuds/CarbonFiberSparrow
Summary: Like the spinning of gears, the trigger of transformation… Bastion’s life changes form.Alternatively, a robot discovers family.--“Bastion,” Genji states as if answering a question. He was such a fool. “You’re Bastion.”Head swiveling, there’s a pause before the omnic turns back to him. Another before Bastion attempts to return the greeting; a friendly wave cut short. As if only realizing in that moment the ‘hand’ they wave with was less a hand, and more a turret. Seemingly wary of being misunderstood, the automaton tucks away the offending appendage.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is the first thing I’ve written in a while and my first work for Overwatch, and it is by no means perfect. But The Last Bastion was a beautiful video, and it’s given me an itch I need to scratch! I also have to credit WolffyLuna for their fic of Bastion’s bromance with Lúcio, which gave me the inspiration for the two to have a bromance in this fic. I also take no credit for the sweatshirt featured. c;
> 
> Reconfigure will be small out of order snap shots of Bastion’s life after the recall, and from the point of view of their teammates. I hope you enjoy!

“You’re alive.”

In all the times Genji hears such a phrase spoken, he’s accustom to how it sounds. The hiccupping tears of relief, the silence as tension lines trace about wide fearful eyes. Hesitation, doubt—

The chiding quip from Angela lacks the typical bite most of her medical prognosis requires. In fact, it’s nearly maternal in tone. The dusty recliner she sits in is a near perfect setting for a mother scolding their child if not for the medical equipment that frames it.

He feels more the child than a man. The too large sweatshirt dwarfing his stature doesn’t help his case. The ‘meow’ written across the chest is in playful but fading letters, a complete contrast to the Overwatch orange sweats.

“Yes,” Genji chuckles. “It appears so.”

The mug in his hands is steaming as she rises from her seat. It nearly spills as Angela pulls him into a gentle hug and the Shimada freezes in her grasp. “Good,” the smile she wears is worn but genuine. “I’ll enjoy the quiet while it lasts.”

Genji snorts, melting enough to give her a reassuring squeeze.

“Has it been so boring in my absence?”

Angela stiffens, “not quite.”

In fact, it’s a rather lengthy tale that opens to one of the newest recruits, a lively firecracker by the name of Lúcio. The little Genji knows of him more than surpasses expectation. The driving force against Vishkar, the musician was both responsible for the corporation’s overthrow in Rio and the international platform of fame used to raise awareness… And even still continues to rise to the occasion.

Winston was more than happy to welcome him to Overwatch. Alongside the musical healing, sonic technology and the natural leadership skills, so was Angela.

Genji smiles, “McCree stole him from you?”

“Borrowed,” she insists with a sigh, her lips quirk. “So he claims. Winston asked if Jesse could help with his training. I have Lucio in the mornings while Jesse starts his drills at midday— _Don’t_.”

His open palms rise in innocence, a little shrug. “I did not say anything.” The smile grows.

There was a mission, Angela continues. McCree had insisted that their newest member would benefit from basic fieldwork, and Winston had agreed. It was a rather simple mission that was meant to be easy.

Stuttgart had experienced an odd fluctuation of activity along its borders for the past few months, including the edges of the Black Forest. Lúcio, with the gunslinger’s guidance, was tasked with pinpointing and linking said activity with either Talon, another organization… or to an urban legend known by the locals as The Golem, as ridiculous as that sounded. Report back their findings, no matter how absurd, and to not engage in combat.

It was somewhere between _simple_ and _meant to be easy_ that Bastion enters.

“Bastion?” Genji asks.

Angela takes a much need sip of coffee, “Lúcio chose that name, they seemed to like it.”

“Did you ever see the Siege models from the Omnic Crisis?”

The short answer was no. The longer was that his father was far too protective to allow his future heirs remotely close to the chaos that was bubbling across the globe. It doesn’t mean the Shimada misses her point. Of the most brutal battles of the Omnic Crisis, the Siege Automatons were one of the most ruthless ever constructed by SST Laboratories. They were all believed to be destroyed.

The story, as it continues to twist and turn, proves otherwise. By its end, it also proves that the trust and respect that Lúcio Correia dos Santos has for Bastion is rightly earned.

 “There will be another meeting this afternoon,” the empty mug is left on the counter as Angela takes her place in front of the computers. “To decide if Bastion may join Overwatch and any safety concerns their presence causes by staying at the Watchpoint.”

“Bastion is _here_?”

“In the disciplinary barracks till recently for evaluation.” If Angela notices the surprise in his voice, she doesn’t acknowledge it. “They have since been placed in Lúcio’s care with required supervision. We’ve been working on methods of communication.”

“I see,” not quite so boring in his absence after all. “I’ll be sure to attend, perhaps after morning meditation.” It was necessity more than preference at this point. His mind is heavy with thoughts and worries, and that was _before_ his arrival this morning. “Good day, Dr. Ziegler.”

“To you as well, and Genji?”

“Yes?”

“Ich bin da, if you ever wish to talk…”

He smiles, visor brightening. “I will let you know.”

…

Watchpoint Gibraltar is a pinnacle of science.

A rocket juts into the pastel clouds that rise above the morning sun. Steely blues pair with tawny caution strips, overpasses lace with suspension cables and pock marked runways curve toward a satellite recharge point. Frameless glass walls welcome in the orangey hues of sunlight despite the reluctance of seemingly still sleeping inhabitants.

For most the edging of crags circling the Watchpoint was a natural deterrent. Precarious drops and slippery wet gravel. The threat of a watery grave was one of the many examples of _would not,_ _should not_.

For Genji it was a Tuesday.

The first Tuesday in nearly three weeks since he’s set foot on this base (a short trip at that), but a Tuesday nonetheless. And the only reason he has yet to reach the top was to simply enjoy the climb. To reacquaint himself with the familiar burn of physical exertion, the muscle memory of hand and foot falls.

Perhaps to wash away his thoughts with the slow churn of ocean waters. To fly in the crisp salty breeze that spurs him onward and upward, as if whispering promise of the much needed peaceful meditation—

Not a word about the giant lumbering omnic, however.

Not even a preface as to how the weighty mech incapable of flight or hovering protocols that has to be _at least_ a few hundred if not thousand pounds even got to the tiny cliff edge.

“Good morning,” is the best response he can fathom in the face of— no, really, how did that even _work_?

Despite the best of intentions, the omnic startles. The helm practically snapping backward; a sole optic flickers from the seemingly friendly blue to alarming red. Genji can practically feel the dig of scans across the bust of his metallic frame. He contemplates the urge to dip back down the cliff, and out of view altogether.

But instead watches as the steely digits of a single servo curl defensively, tightening—

It was the softest of a splintering sound that snaps red from blue and not unlike the flicking of a switch; Genji is all at once forgotten. The Shimada takes the opening as chance to climb the remaining stretch of rock. Level ground would provide a better advantage to deflect a sudden spray of bullets with Ryū Ichimonji.

Or at least that’s what he tries to convince himself. Really Genji was just a bit too curious. Of the omnic and whatever is hiding inside that servo. It didn’t take much to realize both the importance, and his error.

“My apologies.” The cyborg replies with a deep bow, “I had no intention of startling you.”

No response.

In fact the omnic isn’t even looking at him.

Awkwardly the bow recedes, and cautiously Genji steps closer.

“… Is it brok—”

**BWEEEEP!**

Hands clamp over his audio receptors faster than he can realize how pointless the gesture is. It feels like his ears are bleeding, could they at this point? A question for Angela at a later time, perhaps. Maybe when he can actually hear the response as oddly enough there’s a high pitch whine echoing in said ears right now.

“Gomen'nasai. I am sorry,” Genji chuckles contritely as he bows again. “It seems I am good at surprising you.”

**… Zwee sooru.**

The chirps and beeps, as far as he knows, carry no real words for humans. But the omnic seems remorseful of their actions, going so far as to mimic the bow despite the limit of mobility. It was almost fearful as they glance between their servo and the Shimada. Like a deer in headlights.

The breeze picks up and catches at the tattered scarf poking free of his helm, flickering like a kite. As the pointed helm rises, the green slit visor brightens like the reassuring smile he’s wearing behind his mask. “My name is Genji.” He dips into a welcoming bow before carefully folding his legs beneath him, pretzel like.

The unease of silence as it settles again at least allows the cyborg the chance to clear his head. Acknowledge the existence of weighty ties, and organize them before they could clutter his mind further. To welcome the quarrel of wandering thoughts from these past few weeks in the form of his brother and the Recall. Angela, her newest pupil, and the—

As his mind slows, a new thought finally occurs.

“Bastion,” Genji states as if answering a question. He was such a _fool_. “ _You’re_ Bastion.”

Head swiveling, there’s a pause before the omnic turns back to him. Another before Bastion attempts to return the greeting; a friendly wave cut short. As if only realizing in that moment the ‘hand’ they wave with was less a hand, and more a turret. Seemingly wary of being misunderstood, the automaton tucks away the offending appendage.

**Doo-woo. Zwee woo we hoo…**

Bastion moves, albeit sluggishly. As if attempting to stand, to leave—

“I wanted to thank you,” Genji says suddenly. It’s enough to stall the motion. “I was told you were quite heroic.” If a single word could translate to the lengthy praise he has second hand. “Lúcio would not have returned to us without your help,” the states of fact made it feel so small. Too small.

“I owe you a debt,” The Shimada continues. “For returning him safely—“

**Dweet, dwee.~**

The disagreement was firm, but gentle.

**Dweet, zwee doop… Loo zee see vee zwee.**

The optic shuffles. Zooms in and out as the helm tilts, like a dog curious of its owner.

No, Genji realizes. Like a teacher waiting patiently, ensuring their students understand the lesson. The little bits of the language he knows feel a different dialect entirely, if it could be considered that at all. Instead he looks to the inflections. The tempo, pitch, it was a pathway to emotion. Not unlike a puzzle left gingerly in Genji’s hands to decipher.

“You don’t want compensation,” this earns the Shimada a happy **bweep**. “Is it because you… wouldn’t know what to ask for?”

**Dweet. Chirr, chirr, chirr—!**

The omnic stiffens, but Genji translates that rather quickly. “That…”

 Pointing to the automaton accusingly—

“That was laughter,” Genji snickers.

**... Chirr, chirr, chirr. Hee.**

“If not that,” he hums with thought. “Is it because you and L _úcio are friends?_ ”

From the way Angela speaks, friendship is an understatement. Like saying the Recall was nothing more than a chummy reunion among friends. From the way Genji understands it, Lucio was avidly defensive of the omnic. Especially when it came to the less enthused members of Overwatch who didn’t understand… like a brother. Hm, sounded familiar.

 **Dah. Loo zee bweeeep zwee ho** _Twee-twee!_

The cyborg pauses. “Could you… repeat that?”

Bastion complies, and a string of familiar blips fills the audio receptors of his helmet—

_Twee, twee!_

There it was again. A not so seamless audio clip chirps. Despite the low quality white noise that fizzles in its backdrop, the twittering is easily placed.

“A bird?”

It clearly wasn’t the carillon squeak of the gulls gliding about their heads in lazy circles, but softer. It reminds Genji of the little chirps of sparrows that nestle along the footbridges of Nepal, bright and indulgent. Such a memory does little to explain the choppy audio clip.

Bastion titters into silence. Optic cast downward, into the depths of their servo as if it holds the answer. A single arm strut pivots suddenly, toward the Shimada not unlike a swing bridge. Rigid, yet slowly those digits fan outward to reveal the treasures inside.

It was a nest.

And it was a question that manifests itself to the forefront of Genji’s mind. In fact, many do.

**_Hey, listen!_ **

It takes him a moment to realize that Bastion was the source.

 ** _This right here?_** The voice clip brags in a tinny voice, as if talking into the confines of a trash can while Bastion gestures to the nest. **_Ganymede— my fam, my brother in arms._** The Shimada is sure he can hear McCree mumbling some southern saying about a can of worms in the background of said audio.

The clip cuts, skips along to another line **. _–Wouldn’t be here without ‘em!_** Cut, skip.

**_—saved my life!_ **

In the back of Genji’s mind, a voice speaks.

 _“We’ve been working on methods of communication,”_ the memory of Angela adds faintly.

 “…Lúcio,” the name comes almost as a question. “I see he and Angela have helped to upgrade your systems?” There’s a twittering. “Come again?”

_Twee tweetle, twee!_

A bright bundle of feathers. Little claws click clack about the matte white pauldron of a shoulder, near the neon green cooling vents. Wings flutter, fluff outward, and recede in a flurrying motion. _Tweetle, twee~_

The nest retakes the flat expanse of Bastion’s own pauldron, and the bird flutters in. Twig in beak, they begin the continuous process of puzzling together the sticks with their newest addition.

“Ganymede?” The automaton blips in the affirmative, attempting to nod without disturbing the nest. “It is a pleasure to meet you, both of you.”

The bird chirps, and Bastion does in kind. With closed eyes, it may seem  Genji were only in the presence of chirping sparrows. Perhaps he was. It allows him to return to Nepal in his mind’s eye, the speckled red feathers that nest beside the open doors of his quarters. To visualize the snowy mountain tops, the humble red faced buildings, and channel the calming effects into his being.

It was here that Genji found himself. The light twitters of conversation eases away the beginnings of a soon to be busy day.

And slowly as time passes, Watchpoint Gibraltar begins to trickle with life. He imagines the blue flickering form of Tracer as the cyborg hears the telltale signs of her occasional blink coupling with her morning jog. The faint jingle of spurs can only be McCree with his morning cigarillo. A gentle hum as the automatic shutters of the medbay recede to allow in the sunrise. Synthetic pulses of music—

“Wha—“ Genji’s eyes open, visor zooming just enough to capture the absolute shock of a face just below hanging dreads and far below the dip of crags.

 “BASTION?!” Lúcio shouts. The automaton blips. “How did you EVEN—“

**Author's Note:**

> A few points to make in the chance anything was left to question (as I tried to write subtly, and wasn't sure if things came across too bold or got lost).
> 
> Yes, this is post Dragons. In case people worry that Angela is a bit too nonreactive, this is simply the first time she and Genji have spoken in person since Dragons. Not the first time they have spoken at all. There's a reason her reactions in this are minimal.
> 
> Yes, Genji completely misses the bit where Bastion is Bastion at first. Between all his thoughts being on his brother, and then on his brother AND the stuff Angela tells him with a new recruit, the story behind Bastion, and Bastion themselves Genji is in over his head and just wants to meditate, dammit.
> 
> Yes, Bastion being able to get up those cliffs seems very not possible. I like to believe that their time in the Black Forest gave them time to really travel around, including learning how to climb. It's important to note that Genji got to the top rather easily, while it's never shown how or how long it took Bastion.
> 
> If you guys have any questions, thoughts or critiques please feel free to shoot them my way! As I said, this is by no means perfect, and I can only hope to improve as this story continues. Fingers crossed for a Halloween chapter next!


End file.
